


Cockles Drabbles

by birdoflastsummer



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Drabble, Eating, Fluff, M/M, RPF, chubby!Jensen, chubby!Misha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdoflastsummer/pseuds/birdoflastsummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Cockles drabbles that I wrote for <a href="http://chubcockles.tumblr.com">this tumblr</a>. This is mostly fluff and Cockles eating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check out chubcockles.tumblr.com for more Cockles drabbles by [myself](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com) and [gazetiel](http://gazetiel.tumblr.com).

Misha notices it as soon as the first fan slides their photo across the table to him at his autograph session.

He’s already feeling hurried and he’s running slightly late because of the chaos of the con, but he makes a point to make eye contact with the girl before signing the photo.

“How are you?” he asks, maintaining eye contact. The girl’s eyes are shining like she might cry, so he looks down at the photo, intent to make a comment to calm her down.

In the photo Misha is wearing the blue striped shirt with the white collar, and he’s standing next to Jensen, decked out in a tight-fitting flannel shirt. The girl stands between them, face alight with happiness, but Misha’s eyes flick over her momentarily because it’s all he can see.

He looks so much bigger than Jensen.

Like… _so much bigger._

What? When did this happen?

He squinted down at the photo for a moment, his handled impatient tutting-be damned. His eyes rake over Jensen in the photo. The flannel fits him perfectly and he looks tall and lean and even though he doesn’t look small by any means, Misha is unmistakably ticker in his torso.

Misha scrutinizes his own body for a moment. Maybe it’s just the way his shirt looks in this photo. It’s a new shirt after all. He rationalizes it’s just the shirt and quickly signs his name, winking at the girl as he hands it over.

It goes on for an hour.

Every single photo he is handed shows him and Jensen, in some form of standing next to each other, and he looks huge in every one of them. No matter if he’s standing looking straight at the camera or to the side, there really is no denying it. He looks bigger than Jensen.

And he doesn’t really care, beyond the fascination. Jensen’s always been bigger than him – it’s always been Jared, the giant monster who looms over all of them; Jensen, the middle-man who looks both small next to Jared and large next to Misha; and Misha, the small one.

But there is no mistaking it. He is not the small one in these photos.

When he hands over the last photo he’s told he has time for a lunch break before another photo session for the day, and that Jensen is waiting for him outside the green room. He’s ushered there, trotting happily down the halls lined with fans, to find Jensen scrolling through his phone.

“Hey Mish,” Jensen says, shooting him a grin before going back to his phone.

“Hi,” Misha says, forming a question in his head.

“So there’s this pizza place, couple blocks away,” Jensen mutters distractedly. “We need to try it.”

Jensen holds up his phone triumphantly, and Misha sees a screenshot of the greasiest pizza he’s ever seen, with extra sauce and thick bread puffing up along layers of cheese. God bless authentic Italian pizza.

“Fuck yes,” Misha says, his stomach growling instantly.

Jensen laughs and stowed his phone in his pocket, looking around for their driver among the security. It was only then that Misha remembers what his plans were for lunch.

“Actually… could we get that delivered?” Misha asks.

Jensen turns back to him, head tilted.

“Why? Here?”

“Yeah, just have them deliver it to the room?” Misha pulls his face into what he knows is the best pleading puppy face he had.

Jensen’s eyes widen slightly, and his face flushes instantly. He looks around quickly before giving Misha a curt nod.

“Yeah, I saw they have delivery. Let me go talk it over with a staffer.”

As Jensen walks over to a driver Misha pops into the green room, grabbing a handful of gummy bears from a bowl near the door and throwing them all at Tahmoh Penikett, who may or may not be asleep. This earns a smattering of applause from Rob and Richard, who are hula hooping with Felicia. Misha was going to throw a gummy bear at Osric, who was absorbed in whatever he was reading on his phone, but he found himself popping the candy in his mouth instead.

And then, because he’s considerate, Misha reaches back to the bowl to grab a few for Jensen. And then he grabs a couple more and pops them in his mouth, so he and Jensen would be even. “Ready?” Jensen’s voice comes from the doorway. “Pizza’s on its way.”

Misha turns quickly and nods, following him out the hallway where they were brought to a private elevator. Misha knew the fans would go insane if they saw him and Jensen headed upstairs together, and the security kept a tight circle around them as they entered the elevator.

They all got on – which Misha couldn’t help but think is unnecessary – and started the ascent. Jensen looks laid back and happy and Misha nudges him. When Jensen’s bright green eyes are on him Misha holds out his hand, where four gummy bears lay waiting.

A moment of looking genuinely touched flashes across Jensen’s features before he gets that look in his eyes and leans down to eat them directly out of Misha’s hand. Misha feels Jensen’s lips drag across his palm and the cool tip of his tongue scoop the candy into his mouth. Misha can’t help but think that Jensen didn’t need quite this much contact, but he isn’t complaining.

When Jensen straightens again he gins in that self-satisfied way and the doors open with a ding. Misha rolls his eyes and they walked the short length to the door of their room, where the security pulled back.

“We’ll knock when the pizza arrives,” the man says as Misha and Jensen head into the room.

Jensen beelines to the bed, where he flops down in the least-sexy way possible while still looking amazing. Misha instead wanders over to the full-length mirrors that line the closets, just like every hotel ever.

Misha stares at his own reflection, then starts adjusting his shirt. If he pulls it tighter the little love handles become more prominent. He pulls up his pants a bit but it just feels uncomfortable. He shakes his shoulders to loosen the shirt back up and it juts out again, making him look… huge.

He tugs and pulls on it for almost a minute before Jensen realizes Misha hasn’t joined him.

“What are you doing?” Jensen’s voice comes from across the room.

“This fucking shirt is torturing me,” Misha mumbles.

Jensen chuckles into the bedding.

“I can fix that, you know,” Jensen’s voice calls.

Misha toes off his shoes before shuffling over to the bed, crawling up next to him. One of Jensen’s eyes peeks out at him.

“So what crime has the shirt committed?” Jensen asks.

“It fits me weird,” Misha says quietly. Something in his tone must catch Jensen’s attention because he sits up on his elbows to look at Misha properly.

“I like it,” Jensen says plainly, like that’s all there is to it. Then he adds, quietly, “brings out your eyes.”

Misha’s weird mood crumbles a bit. Misha’s probably start putting on the moves if they weren’t waiting for the pizza. Neither of them are on board with messing around until they’ve had lunch. “I think I’m gaining weight,” Misha says neutrally, his hands patting his stomach.

Jensen’s eyes narrow. “So?”

Misha’s bottom lip juts out thoughtfully and he shakes his head a bit.

“So… nothing, actually,” Misha says, still patting. “It’s just… really obvious in all the photos today.”

“You’re not unhealthy, Mish,” Jensen says, reaching over to poke his ribs. Misha squirms but giggles a bit. “You’ve run more since we entered this country than I have in… months?” Jensen looks contemplative, then nods. “Yeah, probably months.”

“That’s not true, you did that mudder thing,” Misha says, taking the opportunity to poke Jensen’s stomach back.

Jensen’s eyes roll and he huffs, getting up on his knees on the bed and reaching behind his neck to pull his shirt off.

“Does this look like a man who cares about being in peak physical condition?”

Misha’s eyes took in Jensen’s stomach. It honestly didn’t matter to him that Jensen’s face was, basically, perfect – Jensen’s stomach was Misha’s favorite part of him. He was solidly built and muscles framed his abdomen, but love handles poked out on either side and pudge pillowed his entire frame, squishing his bellybutton and causing small lines from where the skin rolls naturally.

Misha sits up and grabs his stomach, pressing kisses all over. Jensen grins down at him and laughs the longer he keeps at it, which, if Misha had his way, would be for at least seven hours.

“Hey, hey, my turn,” Jensen says, ruffling Misha’s hair.

Misha mumbles something that sounds a lot like I’m busy into Jensen’s tiny happy trail, so Jensen starts maneuvering to work at Misha’s buttons. Misha accepts it passively, completely content with Jensen’s tummy in his presence for the moment, though he obliges with the last button when Jensen makes a frustrated noise.

“Happy?” Misha asks grumpily as he slides the shirt off his shoulders quickly, intent to go back to kissing Jensen’s stomach.

He doesn’t get the chance to, however, as Jensen pushes him down and straddles his torso.

“Very,” Jensen says, and lowers himself to press his own kisses into Misha’s stomach.

Misha’s sharp hipbones were padded now with fat, which spills over a bit from his pants. Jensen takes the term ‘love handles’ literally and grips Misha’s sides, holding him still while he kisses along the pudgy stomach.

Misha is still strong from his constant running, but combined with all the food he’d been eating recently, the muscles were… safely contained. Jensen seems more than happy though, and Misha sighs happily.

Jensen had worked his way up Misha’s torso and had just pressed his first kiss to Misha’s lips when a sharp knock comes on the door.

Jensen chuckles into Misha’s mouth.

“I’m sorry I’m not more disappointed to get interrupted, but I’m starving,” Jensen apologizes.

“Get your shirt on and get that pizza or you’re dead to me,” Misha replies seriously.

Misha stays sprawled on the bed with his eyes closed while Jensen handled the pizza, trying to stay zen while the smells of cheese and pasta sauce assault his senses. Misha only stirs when he feels the edge of the bed dip down.

“I thought you were going to be gone forever,” Misha says petulantly, peeling his eyes open and then feeling them go comically wide at what he sees.

“Oh my god.”

Jensen crawls back onto the bed balancing two pizzas and a small box of breadsticks in his hands.

“I love you Mish, but not enough to share my pizza,” Jensen sighs, dolling out some napkins and handing him a box of pizza.

“I have never been more attracted to you,” Misha says, opening his box and grabbing the first piece.

The cheese melts, slipping and sliding off the slices, but Jensen and Misha happily eat slice after slice as they sit on the bed.

Six slices in, Misha realizes he is the only one who isn’t wearing a shirt, and reaches over to tug at the hem of Jensen’s shirt. Jensen’s is just about to take another bite of pizza, and his mouth hangs open as he eyes Misha suspiciously.

“Wha?” he grumbles.

Misha pushes him a little and pulls the shirt off, taking extra care not to compromise the pizza. Jensen allows himself to be contorted and seems unfazed once he affirms that his pizza has successfully made it out of his shirt.

“Better?” Jensen asks, laying down on the bed and lowing the pizza to his mouth from above.

Misha relocates and sprawls out, perpendicular on the bed, and eats over Jensen’s stomach.

“Much better,” Misha says.

Jensen rolls his eyes.

They argue passionately over who gets the last breadstick,

(“We should split it!”

“Then neither of us is truly satisfied!”

“If you eat the whole last breadstick and leave me starving Jensen Ackles I will end you.”

“Starving!?”

“Do not mock my pain!”)

and eventually settle down. Misha lays his head on Jensen’s stomach and Jensen rubs Misha’s back, taking time to kneed him from shoulder-to-extra-fleshy love handles.

“You’re not actually worried about gaining weight, are you?” Jensen asks eventually.

Misha burrows into Jensen’s stomach, blissfully content.

“’Course not,” he says. “And who cares, anyway.”

“Not me,” Jensen says. “But maybe I’ll do something this weekend…”

Misha’s eyes squint where he’s studying the pudge of Jensen’s lower abdomen.

“Like… run?”

“God no,” Jensen says immediately. “I mean… maybe I’ll give the fans a hint at what I’ve got goin’ on under all those Dean layers.”

Misha laughed.

“You’re gonna flash your stomach?”

“Why not?” Jensen shrugs. “You seem to like it.”

Misha hummed.

“I love it.”

“And if you’re worried about your own stomach—”

“I just didn’t realize I had put on that weight,” Misha shrugged.

Jensen chuckled.

“Me neither, honestly,” Jensen says. “It probably doesn’t help that our favorite activity is eating.”

Misha turns his head to look up at him.

“Luckily our second favorite activity burns a lot of calories.”

Jensen grins.


	2. The Responsible Thing To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mish, we’ve got to be prepared for our panel.”  
> “What do you mean prepared?”  
> “I mean we… need to take reasonable precautions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are drabbles I write for the blog [chubcockles.tumblr.com](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com).

“Mish, we’ve got to be prepared for our panel.”

“What do you mean prepared?”

“I mean we… need to take reasonable precautions.”

“Jensen. We just fucked. I don’t know what else we can do to prepare ourselves.”

Misha and Jensen are sprawled on their bed at the hotel, the sheets tangled around their legs. Misha is waging a war with himself because all he wants to do is curl up on Jensen and nap for the rest of the day, but he knows he shouldn’t get too comfortable. By his estimation, his handlers started looking for him 20 minutes ago.

“Well that’ll certainly took the edge off,” Jensen agreed happily.

Misha can feel his voice rumbling from where he’s resting comfortably on Jensen’s stomach. The pudge has created a kind of pillow for Misha has a hard time keeping his hands off it.

“What is there left to do then?” Misha asks, his eyes drooping as he nestles further into Jensen’s stomach.

“You know we’re gonna be doing some drinking up there,” Jensen says, shifting his hands through Misha’s hair to try to settle it down from where finger-shaped lines had shoved through it thoroughly.

“That’s how it usually goes,” Misha returns.

“So we should prepare and makes sure we’re not drinking on empty stomachs,” Jensen suggests casually.

Misha picks his head up and stares up at Jensen, who is not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Jensen.” Misha says loudly. Jensen suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting. “No way,” Misha whispers.

“What?”

“There is no way.”

“You know what they say—”

“What do they say about this?”

“Where there’s a will—”

“There is _no way_ you are already hungry!” Misha exclaims, starting to laugh.

Jensen pouts at him.

“It’s been forever.”

“It’s been 45 minutes,” Misha counters. “We both had chicken parmesan—”

“It was grilled chicken under that breading!”

“And noodles with meat sauce.”

“It’s healthy.”

“We ate three loaves of garlic bread.”

“When in Rome.”

_“Loaves, Jensen.”_

_“Rome, Mish.”_

“I actually can’t recall the last vegetable I ate.”

“Tomato… sauce. On the pizza. There was tomato sauce on the pizza earlier.”

Misha looked at him.

“I’m a growing boy,” Jensen frowns.

“Don’t I know it,” Misha says happily, kissing his stomach.

Jensen shifts, looking uncomfortable.

“Are… are you really not hungry?”

Misha turns to look at him seriously.

“Jensen. Be reasonable.” Misha pauses. “We’re ordering everything on the room service menu.”

Jensen’s eyes go wide.

“Really?”

“Yes. Hand me the menu.”

Jensen half-heartedly reaches to the nightstand for the menu, but can’t reach it without disturbing Misha who is pillowed so comfortably on his stomach. Jensen whines and nudges Misha.

“Mish? Please?”

Mish turns his nose into Jensen’s stomach and starts pressing kisses at random.

“Can’t hear you,” Misha mumbles.

“Liar.”

“I have important business down here,” Misha says, burrowing further so he can give some attention to the fleshy love handles that spill over Jensen’s boxer briefs.

“More important than food?” Jensen asks, reaching down to poke at Misha’s ribs. Misha squirms away eventually his head is unseated from Jensen’s stomach.

“Fine, fine,” Misha sighs, staring whistfully at Jensen’s soft stomach as he crawls across the bed and picks up the phone at the menu.

Before he can dial though, Misha feels himself getting manhandled onto his back.

Jensen’s head falls to rest gently on Misha’s stomach, hands gripping his soft sides as Jensen nestles into his new spot.

“Order me a shot of whisky and I’ll sing to you,” Jensen says, waggling his eyebrows up at Misha.

Misha rolls his eyes and eyes the menu.

“I hope you know I was serious,” Misha says.

“About what?”

“Ordering everything on the menu.”

Jensen kisses Misha’s stomach.

“Seems like the responsible thing to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also follow me for Cockles and Destiel at [casthegrumpy.tumblr.com](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com)


	3. The Green Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, you know these things run over time—” Jensen returns reasonably, trying not to get his feathers ruffled in Misha’s defense.  
> “Oh, I totally understand that,” the con staffer quickly added, “it’s just that, regardless of whether or not something ends on time, Misha always has to go to the green room between events.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collection of drabbles I write for the blog [chubcockles](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com).

Jensen wraps up his latest autograph session, and he knows he has about 20 minutes to kill before him and Misha have their joint photo session.

It’s not enough time to really do anything or go anywhere, so he picks up his phone and tells Cliff that they can start walking to the other side of the hotel to the photo room.

“I’m glad one of you will be on time,” says one of the handlers, chuckling a bit.

Jensen glances at Cliff, who shrugs.

“Is Misha going to be late?” Jensen asks, unsure if he should be worried.

“He’s been late to everything so far,” the girl replies, a little exasperated.

“Well, you know these things run over time—” Jensen returns reasonably, trying not to get his feathers ruffled in Misha’s defense.

“Oh, I totally understand that,” the staffer quickly added, “it’s just that, regardless of whether or not something ends on time, he _always_ has to go to the green room between events.”

Jensen’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“What does he do in the green room?” Jensen asks, curiosity piqued.

“I’m not sure,” she sighs. “But he makes a point of going there as much as possible.”

Jensen frowns. He hasn’t been able to spend as much time in the green room as he typically likes to since he’s been stretched pretty thin pulling double coverage on Jared’s events. He misses the boisterous, chaotic atmosphere in the green room, where his costars often gravitate to hang out between events.

Even though he’d been mostly absent from the green room, he’d been under the impression it was pretty dead this year. They were in _Rome_ , for God’s sake. It seemed like everyone preferred getting out and seeing the sights or shopping or walking around to staying in the hotel when they had free time, but maybe more fun was being had in there than Jensen had initially realized…

“On second thought—” Jensen says, turning to Cliff. “Can we stop by the green room?”

“Sure thing boss.”

“Do you know if he’s in there?” Jensen asks the handler, who peeks at the clipboard she’s holding.

“It’s almost guaranteed.”

Jensen walks a couple steps behind Cliff through the halls, smiling at the fans and high fiving everyone. They finally pull into a quieter hallway and Cliff waits at the door while Jensen slips in the green room.

Jensen expects to be greeted by shouts, or a blow-up balloon hurling toward his face, or for Osric to be literally mid-flip in the middle of the room.

But what he finds is… nothing.

Jensen’s taken aback by the mess of bags and backpacks and gifts laying about the room on empty couches and tables and lining the walls, but seeing absolutely no people around. It’s kind of what he expected the greenroom to look like, but it doesn’t explain why the hell is Misha constantly coming back here.

“Jensen?”

A muffled voice from the corner of the room causes Jensen to jump, and he turns to see Misha looking back at him.

Suddenly… everything makes sense.

Misha is sitting in a fold-up chair that he’s obviously dragged from the other side of the room. His back is turned to Jensen, and as Jensen walks over, he can see a smudge of chocolate on the side of his face.

Misha’s literally parked himself in front of the catering table, where he is sampling from all the food. There is a bowl of M&Ms and very large slice of the cake gone, and Jensen suspects he knows Misha is the only one who’s gotten a taste. He can also see that Misha sprinkled the M&M’s onto the cake’s icing.

To balance out his sweet tooth, Jensen also sees the evidence of a pulled pork sandwich that obviously been devoured. The tongs from the crockpot full of pork are resting on the paper plate in front Misha, and in his haste he hadn’t resealed the bag of hamburger buns. Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up when he realizes more than one bun is missing.

They stay up when he realizes there are three pizza crusts on Misha’s paper plate.

“Mish…”

“Am I late?” Misha asks, happy blue eyes looking up at him.

Jensen thumbs at the chocolate on his cheek and Misha smiles at him.

“Yeah bud, I think you are,” Jensen says.

“Sorry,” Misha says, looking genuinely guilty but also so content.

“Is this why you’re always coming to the green room?”

Misha gestures at the massive table in front of him.

“I – I just felt bad. Look at all this food!” He takes Jensen’s hand enthusiastically and brings him to the far end of the table.

“Look at this Italian sausage pie!” Misha says, pushing a paper plate into Jensen’s hands and cutting into the pie. Immediately the scents of sausage and onions float into Jensen’s senses, and Misha serves him a slice. Jensen doesn’t have a fork on him so he uses the thick bread to scoop up as much as possible and shove it in his mouth. Misha waits expectantly, and a moment later Jensen moans.

“Right?!” Misha asks, then pulls him along.

“This is a full, genuine Italian lasagna roll up,” he says, wafting the scents into Jensen’s face from where it sits on a hot plate. Jensen peers into the dish.

“It’s like a baby lasagna,” Jensen muttered, mouth watering.

“I know!” Misha scooped one onto Jensen’s plate. “They’re made already into serving sizes, so you don’t get gypped any pasta or meat sauce because it falls out when you’re trying to cut it out.”

“How many have you eaten?”

“Three.”

Jensen grabs a fork and digs in.

The next stop is a stainless steel Coldmaster, which Misha opens to unveil –

“Ice cream?” Jensen asks hopefully.

“Gelato, Jensen,” Misha corrects. He scoops some up, but instead of dumping it on Jensen’s plate he holds it up to Jensen’s mouth. “Gianduja, to be exact.”

“Gia-wha?” Jensen asks, peering at the spoon.

“Chocolate hazelnut,” Misha asks, and then Jensen opens his mouth wide and takes the whole thing in mouth.

“Oh my god,” Jensen says, gripping Misha’s wrist to make sure he doesn’t take the spoon away before he’s completely done.

They continue down the line.

“Jensen, Jensen,” Misha says, seeming to grow in excitement with each stop. “This one even has _vegetables_ in it! It’s not that bad. Here, take a few…”

Eventually Jensen collapses into Misha’s chair and Misha sits on the ground next to him, resting his forehead against Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen groans and reaches to undo the button of his pants, which makes Misha chuckle.

“What?” Jensen pouts, glaring down at him for his judgment.

Misha gently nuzzles into Jensen’s stomach.

“I did the same thing earlier,” Misha explains. “My zipper’s only like, maybe halfway up, too.”

Jensen huffs.

“Is that why you’re wearing such a long shirt?”

“I come prepared.”

“We have to go take _photos_ now, Mish.”

Misha just buried his face further into Jensen’s stomach.

“But, after that, we have like a 30 minute break.”

Jensen peers down at him, and Misha grins.

“We’ll have time to come back and eat more cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow my Destiel/Cockles blog casthegrumpy [here](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com)


	4. National Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had all started on May 12th, when Misha noticed a tweet informing him that it was National Nutty Fudge Day. Misha, hardly one to pass up such a sacred and momentous holiday, had called a local bakery and ordered two 13-by-9 inch pans of it. Then he and Jensen settled down on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collection of drabbles I write for the blog [chubcockles](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com).

“Why do we have to do this?”

“Jensen, do my dreams mean nothing to you?”

“Why are these your dreams?”

Misha sighs deeply and holds the phone out of reach, looking pointedly at the menu sitting in front of Jensen.

“Say it correctly and then we can order,” Misha says.

Jensen lets out a groan.

It had all started on May 12th, when Misha noticed a tweet informing him that it was National Nutty Fudge Day. Misha, hardly one to pass up such a sacred and momentous holiday, had called a local bakery and ordered two 13-by-9 inch pans of it. Then he and Jensen settled down on the couch.

“Happy Nutty Fudge Day,” Misha grinned, gently toasting a square of fudge in his hands against the one Jensen was holding.

It took them just under two hours to scrape the pans clean.

“Best holiday of the year,” Jensen muttered when he was done, letting his hands roam over his bloated stomach.

Misha, who had taken off his pants entirely halfway through the second pan, groaned as he sat up and fished his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Jensen asked.

“Looking up what tomorrow is.”

“It’s the 13th,” Jensen offered, closing his eyes in post-fudge bliss.

A moment later Misha’s excited voice interrupted his peace.

“That’s not all it is.”

Jensen opened an eye to peer at him and saw Misha grinning mischievously. Misha held out his phone and Jensen read: “May 13th: National Apple Pie Day.”

“Fuck me,” Jensen whispered.

Misha had tackled the task of celebrating every national holiday on every day since. On May 13th they ate _four_ apple pies – Jensen, in honor of Dean, helped finish off Misha’s second pie – and since it was also National Crouton Day, Jensen later prepared himself a small salad consisting of mostly croutons and bacos, feeling incredibly pleased with his life choices.

May 14th was National Buttermilk Biscuit Day, and when Jensen arrived at Misha’s apartment bright and early he’d found the kitchen covered in flour and a suspiciously salt and pepper-haired man peering into the oven.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Misha whispered.

Misha ran his hands through his hair, explaining the white streaks.

“What’s up?” Jensen asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Misha looked crestfallen.

“It took me a few tries to get it right, and now I’m out of flour,” Misha said, pulling perfectly crisp biscuits from the oven. Misha turned huge, heartbroken eyes on Jensen.

“Mish, these look great,” Jensen said sincerely.

“I know, _these_ are _perfect_ ,” he snapped, setting down the cookie sheet. “But there are only 24 here.”

“That’s twelve for each of us,” Jensen said, meaning to be supportive, but Misha just gave him a look.

Jensen understood immediately.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s not nearly enough.”

They ended up ordering two dozen more from the same local bakery.

Misha choose to celebrate National Chocolate Chip Day on May 15th – with chocolate chip cookies, chocolate chip muffins, chocolate chip cookie dough cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip cookie dough cannolis, and then, just to top it off, a whole bag of chocolate chips.

The bag lay on Misha’s stomach, who was sprawled over the couch with his head in Jensen’s lap.

“Mish, we gotta finish this bag before National Chocolate Chip Day ends,” Jensen warned, nudging Misha’s stomach.

Misha reached in the bag and grabbed a fistful, popping them into his mouth like he hadn’t consumed several thousand already. He glanced at the clock. 11:49 pm.

“Challenge accepted,” Misha said, looking up happily at Jensen.

They finished the bag with three minutes to spare.

In addition to National Chocolate Chip Day, May 15th was also National Pizza Party Day. But since May 16th was tragically lacking in food-related occasions –

_(“Seriously, National Learn to Swim Day?” Jensen scoffed, impassioned._

_“National Sea Monkey Day, though,” Misha replied reasonably.”)_

they saved pizza for the 16th. Misha and Jensen aren’t actually sure how much pizza they ate, but the restaurant asked if they were sure after they placed the order.

“Have fun at your party,” the delivery girl said pleasantly when she brought the pizzas.

Misha didn’t bother to correct her, but when he closed the door he waggled his eyebrows at Jensen.

“Party of two!” Jensen bellowed.

National Cherry Cobbler Day was on the 17th, National Cheese Souffle Day was on the 18th, followed by National Devil’s Food Cake Day, National Quiche Day, National Strawberries and Cream Day, National Vanilla Pudding Day, National Taffy Day and National Escargot Day. (Jensen refuses to talk about that one).

May 25th was National Wine Day, so Misha compromised. They went to a local restaurant that night and Misha put in a special order for both of them. Jensen was mostly annoyed that he had to wear nice pants. The last two weeks was taking its toll on his waistline.

“Wine is just fermented grapes, so this will do for the celebration,” Misha whispered from across the table as the waiter lay down two large servings of pork medallians with parsnips and grapes. Jensen counted fewer than a dozen grapes on his plate, and his heart swelled. When they got back to Jensen’s apartment they shared two bottles of wine and ate their additional to-go orders of pork and they both ended up taking off their pants.

May 26th was National Blueberry Cheesecake Day, and Misha passionately argued that the thick, overwhelming blueberry topping offset the heavy custard middle.

“It’s a fruit,” Misha rationalized, mouth full.

Jensen nodded along happily.

May 27th was Grape Popsicle Day, which both Jensen and Misha found offensively un-celebratory, so they moved up National Hamburger Day, which was originally slated for May 28th. There was a small debate over the alteration, but Jensen and Misha agreed on the change as part of a politically-savvy strategy to celebrate May 28th to the fullest extent: it was National Brisket Day.

In addition to his pants, Jensen actually took his shirt off at the end of the day on the 28th. He felt flushed and crowded by the material, which was clinging to both his sides and front. With Misha it was harder to tell – he typically wore larger, looser shirts – but he took his off in solidarity and rubbed Jensen’s stomach for a full hour.

All this led to Jensen and Misha standing in Misha’s kitchen on May 29th, Misha determined for Jensen to correctly pronounce the national holiday they’re planning on celebrating today. Misha seems to think it is downright sacrilegious not to be able to.

“The restaurant will know what I mean,” Jensen says impatiently, his stomach growling.

Misha tuts.

“Respect the holiday, Jensen,” he reprimands.

“I sound dumb when I say it.”

“Try it again.”

“No.”

“Jensen.”

“No.”

“Jensen.”

A long pause.

“Cock—”

Misha unsuccessfully stifles a giggle.

Jensen throws up his hands and begins pacing.

“What about _respect the holiday_ , Mish!?” Jensen protests loudly.

Misha tries to arrange his features to a neutral expression.

“Sorry, sorry. Try it again.”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

Jensen glares at him, then deflates. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, looking searchingly at Misha.

“Cock—” Jensen pauses, waiting for Misha to laugh, which he doesn’t, “—wuva,” he finishes in a rush.

“Close,” Misha says gently. “It’s wa-vah, not wuva.”

“Alright, Hermione,” Jensen grumbles.

“Try it again.”

Jensen’s features screw up like he’s in pain before breaking off for a moment.

“I much preferred brisket,” he confides.

Misha smiles patiently.

“Alright, alright,” Jensen mutters, closing his eyes and getting in the zone.

Misha holds his breath.

“Coq au Vin,” Jensen says.

Jensen’s eyes fly open.

“Perfect!” Misha says, beaming.

Jensen tries not to look too pleased with himself.

“We’re going to have to have a lot of sex later,” Jensen says matter-of-factly as Misha hands him the phone.

“Works for me. I don’t plan on wearing pants today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow my Destiel/Cockles blog casthegrumpy [here](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com).


	5. Macaroni Salad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha doesn’t like set.  
> And that’s fine. It’s just a job, and he doesn’t mind feeling that way about it. No matter how many people have looked at him with glossy eyes and fawned over the so-called tight-knit family that the cast and crew have become, Misha doesn’t feel part of it.  
> And that’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is written for the [chubcockles](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com) tumblr.

Misha doesn’t like set.

And that’s fine. It’s just a job, and he doesn’t mind feeling that way about it. No matter how many people have looked at him with glossy eyes and fawned over the so-called tight-knit family that the cast and crew have become, Misha doesn’t feel part of it.

And that’s fine.

It kind of bothers him that the leads of the show, Jensen and Jared, have been at best polite and at worst disinterested in getting to know him. They no doubt didn’t see the point when he would only be on set for a couple of weeks total. But then his contract kept getting extended.

Four episodes, five episodes, seven episodes.

Now Misha’s reading through the outlines of the first Cas-centric script called The Rapture. It seems like the show is intent on keeping him.

He’s in his trailer reading through the script and eating a granola bar, fascinated by the idea of shifting into the role of Jimmy, when Misha hears a knock at his door.

He’s more than a little surprised when he pulled the door open to see Jensen, shifting back and forth on his feet nervously.

“Hey, man,” Jensen says, grinning happily.

Misha opens his mouth to say hi back – he can be civilized – but then his eyes drop to what Jensen is holding. It’s a paper plate piled with nothing but macaroni salad. Literally… a mound of macaroni salad. Like the pile peaks at four inches tall.

“Holy shit,” Misha says before thinking.

Jensen frowns.

“I just came by to say congrats on the upcoming episode,” Jensen says, holding his macaroni salad a bit closer to his chest. “So… congrats. See you around.”

Misha blinks and it’s over before he can correct himself. That was not how he wanted that conversation to go. But… seriously? How does a single man eat that much macaroni salad?

 

They’re halfway through the filming of The Rapture when Misha sees Jensen holding another paper plate, this one with six donuts stacked on it. Six.

Misha goes a bit closer, cautiously, aware that he might’ve insulted Jensen’s eating habits before. But he’s honestly never seen proportions this large before. And where is Jensen even putting it? He may not have a Hollywood six pack, but he doesn’t look like he eats eight servings of food at a time, either.

Misha comes up behind Jensen, leaning a bit over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says.

Jensen starts and almost drops the donut he’s holding, hands scrambling to catch it. He ends up cradling it against his shirt, chocolate glaze pressed firmly into the plaid shirt he’s wearing. Chocolate sprinkles also smudge around his lips and down his chin from where he dropped it mid-bite.

“God damn it, Jensen!” someone yells from across the stage.

Jensen looks around sheepishly as two people from make-up and wardrobe descend on him, and Misha gets shoved out of the way.

“The shirt’s ruined,” one of them says, grabbing fistfuls of the materiel and yanking them close for inspection.

“We’re going to have to reapply your make up after you get this washed off,” the other person says from where she’s manhandling his face, flicking a sprinkle off.

“We’re down to two extra copies of this shirt,” the first girl sighs, as if Jensen isn’t standing there.

“Didn’t you start out with six?” the make-up girl replies.

“Yeah, but he keeps getting stains on everything.”

Jensen looks grumpy and unhappy and he’s still holding that fucking donut when they finally leave him alone. Misha stands off to the side, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry for startling you,” Misha offers.

Jensen huffs, not meeting his eye.

“Did you need something?” he asks, sounding tired. Misha feels awful.

“No… do you want – I can – I can get you a new donut?” he asks, feeling absurd.

Jensen looks down at the half donut he’s holding, looking embarrassed.

“No, I – uh.. I’ve got some more,” he says vaguely, like Misha hadn’t seen the plate of five more donuts right behind him.

“Okay,” Misha says awkwardly, stepping away. “Sorry again.”

 

Misha hides in his trailer for the rest of the day.

Misha is sitting on some stairs outside the stage the next day, carefully eating a yogurt, when he hears a small commotion nearby.

The doors burst open and Jensen is leading a pack of ravenous crew in a beeline toward the catering tent. Jensen is almost jogging and the split-second Misha could see Jensen’s face, he looked nearly ecstatic.

The second wave of crew members emerges a couple minutes later, and Misha hops up, yogurt forgotten, to join them.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“You haven’t heard?” someone asks.

Misha shrugged.

“It’s Nacho Tuesday,” Jared’s voice offers, and Misha turns to look at him. “It’s held in near-religious regard among some people here.”

“Not you?” Misha asks, taking note of his casual tone and pace toward the catering tent.

“I’m a red-blooded American, I enjoy salty chips lathered with cheese as much as the next guy,” Jared explains, “but like I said—” Jared pulls open the tent and Misha and him enter together, “some people take it very seriously.”

It’s then that Misha sees Jensen, sitting alone at a table, with three plates of nachos. They are all piled high with chips and generously coated with cheese, but each has a different topping: one also has ground beef, one has mounds of sour cream and guacamole sitting on top and the other has slices of green and red peppers and salsa. As he watches, Jensen eats a single chip from each plate before circling back around and repeating the process. He looks focused and yet completely content.

Misha doesn’t realize he’s staring until someone giggles and he becomes aware of the small, dumb smile on his face. He looks around quickly and sees Jared rolling his eyes.

Misha hasn’t spent much time in the catering tent. The few times he has been in here, the food has been abysmally fattening. He thinks he knows why now.

Still, Misha makes his way through the line and prepares a small stack of chips with cheese and pico-de-gallo. There’s a loud buzz of noise throughout the tent as most of the crew happily chats while eating their nachos, but when Misha turns around he sees no one is sitting across from Jensen. Misha frowns, but then he realizes it’s likely because Jensen doesn’t look like he wants to chat with anyone. He looks like he’s in the zone and is giving his complete attention to his many plates of nachos.

That’s why he doesn’t react right away when Misha slides across from him, clutching his own plate.

Misha watches him openly and has eaten a handful of chips before Jensen even looks up at him. When he does, Jensen’s eyes go wide and his jaw hangs open mid-chew.

“Hi,” Misha says simply.

Jensen snaps his mouth shut and finishes chewing. His hand automatically reaches for the next plate, but his eyes stay on Misha.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested in Nacho Tuesday,” Jensen says, shoving another chip in his mouth.

Misha’s eyebrows contract.

“Why not?”

He has to wait until Jensen’s finished chewing.

“You eat yogurt,” Jensen says accusingly.

“So? Yogurt is good for you.”

Jensen rolls his eyes.

“Life’s too short to eat yogurt instead of nachos,” Jensen says.

Misha chews thoughtfully, then eyes Jensen’s guacamole.

“May I?” Misha asks, holding a chip and nodding to Jensen’s plate.

Jensen’s eyes widen and then narrow suspiciously. A long moment passes then Jensen gives a stunted nod. Misha reaches across and very carefully scoops up some guacamole onto his chip. When he shoves it into his mouth he can’t help but moan, closing his eyes around the delicious combination of flavors.

When he opens his eyes Jensen is grinning.

 

Misha heads to the food tent the next day of his own volition, curious what kind of food is being offered. He’s still a good 25 feet away when the smells of burritos fill the air.

“Fuck,” Misha mutters to himself.

“Right?” Jensen’s voice is right behind him, and Misha startles. If he was holding a donut he definitely would’ve dropped it.

Jensen looks pleased to see Misha there.

“You joining us for lunch today?” he asks.

“Yeah, it smells delicious.”

“Good to see you coming around.”

Misha tilts his head at that.

“Did I come across as anti-social before?” Misha asks.

Jensen shrugs.

“Nothing personal. I just don’t trust a man until I see him scarfing down a meal.”

“That’s a very odd way to judge character.”

Jensen looks uncomfortable suddenly.

“And I might’ve thought you were judging me,” he says, looking embarrassed.

Misha’s eyebrows fly up.

“Wha – what? Why? For what?”

Jensen plays with the edge of his sleeves absently, looking down.

“When I came to say hi to you, and you saw how much food I had–”

“The macaroni salad,” Misha says knowingly.

Jensen nods, looking up at him searchingly.

“And you had a fucking granola bar.”

“There’s nothing wrong with granola bars,” Misha says quickly.

“There’s nothing wrong with macaroni salad,” Jensen defends just as quickly.

Misha puts his hands up.

“So, burritos today?” Misha asks as a truce. Jensen’s eyes light up immediately.

“Buddy, wait till you see everything you can pile on it—”

 

Misha and Jensen start eating together from the catering tent every day. Misha deliberately stops packing a lunch and he and Jensen have unofficially officially claimed one of the tables closest to the buffets so they can easily make trips back and forth for seconds. Misha stops being afraid to ask Jensen if he can steal food from his plate, as they have an open sharing system and usually strategize piling up their plates so they can get a diversity of flavors and combinations.

He eventually stops eating breakfast so he can make it to set extra early and take advantage of the breakfast options. Most of the time he finds Jensen there, stacking bacon like jenga with a second plate of eggs.

He doesn’t notice the weight gain at first because his Castiel clothes are ridiculously huge on him. But when he changes into his jeans at the end of the day things start feeling a bit tighter than usual.

Misha starts to feel the same kind of self consciousness that Jensen must’ve felt when he first showed up with a whole plate of macaroni salad, because people give them knowing looks when they start sneaking into the catering tent between scenes and when he strides confidently from his car to the area of the tent each morning.

“Can we – can we eat this in one of our trailers today?” Misha asks quietly.

He’d had to ask the man serving him three times to give him more ribs. The first time he asked, the man happily gave him an extra rib. Misha paused and asked for more. The man blinked and served him two more ribs. Misha almost relented, but thought of how disappointed Jensen would be and buckled down. The server dumped the rest of the ribs in front of him onto a second plate.

It was a success, but Misha is feeling a bit embarrassed.

Jensen looks up at him, chewing happily.

“Why?”

“Just… more comfortable there?”

Jensen considers this for a moment.

“We’ll be far away if we want seconds,” he reasons slowly, but then he considers, “but then we can like lay down.”

“So, my trailer or yours?”

They fill their hands with their plates – Misha does not miss the wardrobe workers watching Jensen like a hawk as he balances everything precariously in his arms – and head to Jensen’s trailer.

They sprawl out on Jensen’s couch, plates of ribs placed between them and on each other’s laps, and Misha feels immediately at ease away from the judgmental eyes of everyone else and conversation about what the other one is going to do over the hiatus flows freely. Jensen gets tired of reaching over all the plates to eat from the one in Misha’s lap, so he rearranges things so they’re snug next to each other.

When they finish, Misha’s head flops back over the edge of the couch and Jensen’s arms cradle his own stomach, one of his elbows resting on Misha’s thigh comfortably.

“I need a nap,” Jensen says.

Misha blindly grabs one of Jensen’s arms and maneuvers it so the watch is in front of his face.

“We have an hour until the next scene starts,” Misha replies.

“Naptime?” Jensen questions.

Misha hums, keeping hold of Jensen’s arm as he places it back down next to Jensen’s body. He definitely does not snuggle up a little closer as he dozes off, and says nothing when he wakes up and Jensen’s head is buried in his neck on his shoulder.

 

They start brining all their meals back to one of their trailers, and Misha can’t help but feel it is like they’ve created their own little world of happiness and completely judgment-free eating. They fall asleep together after most meals whenever they have time. Sometimes just next to each other, with one of them openly calling dibs on the other’s shoulder, and at times with one of their heads in the other’s lap.

One day Jensen is settling down on Misha’s lap, shamelessly nuzzling into Misha’s stomach when he notices how tense Misha is.

“You ok?” Jensen asks.

Misha squirms a bit.

“I’m uh – gaining a bit of weight,” Misha says sheepishly.

Jensen flops so he’s on his back, peering up at Misha.

“Me too,” he says, patting his stomach.

“You don’t mind?” Misha asks.

Jensen’s eyes narrow.

“About your weight gain or mine?”

Misha almost blushes.

“Either, I guess.”

“Couldn’t care less about mine,” Jensen sighs, “I like food too much. As for you gaining weight–” a pause “—I think it’s adorable.”

Warmth washes over Misha. Jensen lifts his head and props himself on his elbow, intent on Misha’s crotch. Misha’s eyes go wide as Jensen reaches and undoes the button and zipper, but then Jensen flops back down and closes his eyes.

“Better?” Jensen asks.

So much better. Misha’d really had way too much pasta for lunch.

Misha reaches down to unbutton and unzip Jensen’s pants too.

“Much better."

 

Jensen kisses Misha after lunch the next day while Misha is still trying to wake himself up after dozing off on Jensen’s stomach.

Misha grins at him from the other end of the couch.

“What?” Jensen asks grumpily, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal.

Misha just keeps smiling.

“Was that – that was ok, right?” Jensen asks quietly.

Misha scooted over, pushing away the plates they’d haphazardly scattered around them from lunch. It was Nacho Tuesday again, and they’d really outdone themselves. Both of them had to fully take off their pants for their post-lunch nap. Misha took Jensen’s face and kissed him gently.

“Thank fucking God you stopped eating yogurt,” Jensen sighs.


	6. The Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen and Misha have been on opposite schedules for the better part of three weeks, with all-night filming for Misha and early wake-up calls for Jensen.  
> They’re doing the best they can, but some wires are getting crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [chubcockles](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com) tumblr.

Jensen and Misha have been on opposite schedules for the better part of three weeks, with all-night filming for Misha and early wake-up calls for Jensen.

They’re doing the best they can, but some wires are getting crossed.

It’s still dark outside when Jensen trudges into a 24-hour diner. His car’s clock had just hit 4:30 am, and he spots Misha’s car a few spots down. Jensen pushes in and immediately locates a mess of dark brown hair at their usual booth in the corner.

The diner is nearly empty, as always, except for the staff and smattering of probably traveling businessmen and businesswomen getting an early breakfast.

Jensen ruffles Misha’s hair as he walks by and flops onto his side of the booth.

“Morning,” Misha says happily, still way too awake from filming.

Jensen keeps his eyes open to grumble a hello and then they slip half shut as he blindly reaches for a menu.

He nearly knocks over the salt and pepper before he feels Misha push a menu into his hands.

“Coffee?” Jensen mumbles.

“I got you,” Misha says, voice much gentler.

Jensen has just shoved the menu in his face when he senses movement and hears the sound of a coffee cup being placed on the table.

“Thank you,” Jensen hears Misha tell their waiter, “please keep them coming.”

Jensen peaks out from over the menu, eyes barely cracked open, and spots the coffee. He lets out a steady steam of grumbling under his breath as he grabs it and then he and the coffee disappear behind the menu.

Misha grins at him from the other side of the booth. Jensen is far from a morning person at the best of times, but the early filming schedule means Jensen ends up going to bed at around 8:00 pm. Unfortunately his stomach didn’t get the message, so he often has to wake up at least once during the night to eat an extra meal.

Misha once forgot his cell phone charger and came back to his apartment between scenes to find Jensen standing at the refrigerator, at midnight, eyes closed, shoveling ice cream into his mouth. “This is basically dinner,” Jensen had said once Misha eased the ice cream from his grasp.

“You had dinner at 5,” Misha had reminded him.

“Dinner at 5 is practically lunch,” Jensen had frowned, looking at the ice cream with bleary eyes. “This is regular dinner.”

There are now also ‘Jensen lunches’ and ‘regular lunches’ and ‘Jensen breakfasts’ and ‘regular breakfasts.’ And because Misha joins him at odd hours, they both end up eating about twice as many meals as they usually would.

Sitting at the diner, Misha can tell Jensen had more ice cream last night because there’s a tiny smudge of chocolate at the corner of Jensen’s lips. When Jensen eats ice cream, _he eats ice cream_. He doesn’t believe in leaving any container of ice cream half-full.

When Jensen has an ice cream episode he doesn’t usually order anything when they meet up for ‘Misha dinner.’ Instead, he’ll eat ‘Jensen breakfast’ in a couple hours on set, then he’ll have ‘regular breakfast’ a couple hours after that at what he deems a normal breakfast hour.

That is why Misha’s surprised when their waiter returns a few minutes later and Jensen places an order for a hamburger and fries for both his sides. (He always raises his eyebrows in silent judgment when they bother to ask if he wants corn as one of his sides.)

Misha orders the same thing and as soon as the waiter turns to move back to the kitchen, Jensen puts his head on the table.

“You hungry?” Misha asks, gently running his hands through Jensen’s hair.

Jensen grumbles something into the table that Misha can’t understand.

Their booth is U-shaped, so Misha scoots all the way over to the end. As soon as he gets there Jensen’s face automatically comes unglued from the table, and he settles down to lay his face in Misha’s lap.

Misha’s fingers automatically start combing through the short hairs on Jensen’s neck. He starts telling Jensen in a soothing voice about filming that day and reminding him that they’re almost done with this stretch of terrible scheduling.

Jensen’s pressed firmly into Misha’s stomach, arms starting to wind around Misha’s waist, when Misha spots a small smile on his face.

“What?” Misha asks, suspicion plain.

“Nothin’,” Jensen mumbles.

“No, tell me,” Misha pokes him.

Jensen nuzzles into Misha’s stomach.

“You’re putting on some weight, bud,” Jensen’s voice rumbles from where it’s pressed into Misha’s shirt, right above where a soft strip of flesh spills over his jeans.

Misha’s face flushes.

“It’s your fault,” Misha hisses.

But then Misha’s stomach growls loudly and Jensen’s tiny smile is back.

“You and all your dumb extra meals,” Misha mutters angrily, but he can feel Jensen laughing because his hands forgot to stop petting his hair.

Misha nudges him gently a few minutes later when he hears the kitchen door open. Jensen is not happy to be losing his soft pillow of Misha’s lap, and seems even grumpier than before when he sits up again. Misha scoots over a bit in the booth and the waiter reappears, placing their huge plates of burgers and fries in front of them.

Misha digs in immediately, his focus narrowing to the thick patty and sesame seed bun in front of him. It’s not his best quality, but he can’t hold up his end of a conversation when he’s eating. Misha tends to keep his head down and doesn’t rejoin the world until he’s done with his food.

He distantly registers that Jensen must have squirted some ketchup onto his plate for him because it’s ready when he picks up a fry. Misha’s pretty sure the way his heart swells acutely is because of Jensen and not due to arteries clogging.

He manages to peel his eyes back up to Jensen before he’s totally done with his food, and finds Jensen’s food untouched. In fact, the only evidence Jensen has even acknowledged his food is the small mound of ketchup in the corner.

“Wha?” Misha asks, mouth still full of food.

Jensen’s sleepy face grins patiently back at him until Misha manages to swallow.

“You not hungry?” Misha asks, hand blindly patting around his plate for more fries as he peers questioningly at Jensen.

Jensen doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches over and grabs Misha’s empty plate and switches it with his own full plate.

“Nope,” Jensen finally says. “But I know you are.”

Misha looks down for a long moment at the untouched burger and fresh plate of fries, then turns huge, lovestruck eyes up at Jensen.

“Are you – are you sure? This is for me?” Misha asks, awestruck.

Jensen chuckles as he picks up his coffee.

“I got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [casthegrumpy](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com)


	7. Zipper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for this tumblr.

Misha buttons up his white dress shirt and everything is fine.

He pulls on his black suit jacket and everything is pretty much fine.

He slides on the new trench coat and everything is less fine.

He gets his pants around his hips and nothing is fine.

More than five minutes pass in silence as Misha regards his form in the wardrobe trailer mirror.

“Misha?” someone calls from the other side of the door. “You almost done?”

No, he’s not. Misha can’t zip up his pants.

“One minute,” Misha calls back, shedding the trench coat in a huff.

He suddenly feels hot. Why is it so hot? Fucking layers, Misha thinks furiously. Why does Cas have to wear so many layers? Can angels self regulate their body temperature?

Misha has just enough sense not to let the trench coat fall to the floor before he’s also sliding out of the suit jacket, hanging both of them up and then turning back to the real culprit here. His fucking fly.

It sits there taunting him, barely a few teeth from the bottom. The fly is wide open and his stomach juts out comfortably into the area where his pants are supposed to be. Misha turns to the side. Yes, his stomach noticeably pushes out between the unzipped fly.

Misha straightens, setting his shoulders and giving his reflection a hard stare. He can do this. He did this. These are the same pants he wore all last season. Misha was only out of them for a few months during hiatus. He runs every day. He can fit into them.

He inhales deeply, sucks in his stomach, hunches his shoulders and with a groan pushes the two sides of his fly together. The fabric touches and – in triumph – Misha accidently lets all the air out of his lungs in a whoosh. His fingers are pushed back apart.

“Fuckin—” Misha mutters, staring down at his hands in betrayal.

He repeats the process, huffing loudly, hands on each sides of his fly. If he uses both his hands to pull them together he thinks he can probably manage to get the zipper up. But every time he gets close and tries to pull at the zipper, he loses his grip on the pants and one side flaps away like a flag in a hurricane.

Misha tries pulling the pants up, thinking maybe he’s just wider around his hipbones. He’s not.

He goes back to pulling the sides together and thinks maybe he’ll secure the button first and then zip it up from there. There are no pants rules. No one dictates the correct order in which to put on pants. Misha can button first and then secure the zipper. There is nothing wrong with that.

Except, what the fuck, how did this button ever button before? He groans loudly after a couple attempts before Misha takes the pants off to check the label. It’s the same measurements as last season.

Misha steps back into them and works on pulling the fly material together in small sections so he can work the zipper up bit by bit. He manages to get it up about one centimeter before he feels like he’s dying.

And now he’s hot again. As he looks up at the mirror he can see sweat pooling on his temples and around his neck and his chest feels flushed. He quickly unbuttons his shirt and slips out of it so he doesn’t ruin it with armpit stains. He didn’t plan on a fucking workout here.

Now he’s shirtless and staring at his reflection, dress pants fly wide open. The standoff lasts several minutes before he turns around with a huff and fishes around in his jeans pocket, pulling out his cellphone.

“Hey Mish,” Jensen’s easy voice comes from the other side of the line.

“Jensen, I need you to come to the wardrobe trailer,” Misha says, dead seriousness in his tone.

“Did they finally give you a new outfit?” Jensen’s voice sounds surprised and excited.

“Nope.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you coming?”

“Be there in five.”

A few minutes later Misha can hear Jensen pulling open the trailer’s door, exchanging quick, friendly greetings with everyone before the voices drop.

“—know what’s wrong?”

“—he’s been in there forever—”

“—yes, same as last season—”

“—won’t come out—”

“—he’s making… noises…?”

Misha waits impatiently until a knock comes at the door.

“Mish?” Jensen’s voice calls softly, uncertainly coloring his tone.

Misha stands behind the door when he opens it so Jensen can enter without seeing him. When Misha closes it Jensen’s eyes go wide at the sight of him.

“Woah, hey.”

“Hello,” Misha deadpans, arms crossed and fly still boldly, mockingly unzipped.

Jensen takes a step closer, hands automatically going to Misha’s waist as Jensen looks at him with a grin.

“You know I’m down for whatever, but there are literally four people standing a few feet outside this door waiting for you,” Jensen mutters.

Jensen rests his forehead against Misha’s, thumbs rubbing calming circles into his hips, before he realizes Misha hasn’t reacted. Jensen pulls back to look at Misha’s face.

“Why are you sweating?” Jensen asks.

“I need your help.”

“I just told you—”

“Not about that,” Misha snaps, rolling his eyes.

Jensen raises his eyebrows, waiting.

Misha awkwardly uncrosses his arms and then stares down at his fly. Jensen sighs.

“Mish—”

“It won’t zip.”

A long pause.

“Come again?”

Misha looks up at Jensen, trying to convey a dozen emotions – don’t you dare laugh at me, please help me, do not offer me a blowjob right now, how dare you you introduce me to that pizza place next to the apartment?

“It wont—” Misha assumes the position: shoulders hunched, stomach sucked in, back arched, then pushes the fly together “—zip.”

He relents and the material bursts back apart. Jensen studies his gut for a moment before looking up at Misha carefully.

“Do you… do you need help?”

“I need you to hold these together so I can get the zipper,” Misha mutters.

Jensen wordlessly takes hold of the material and Misha sucks in a huge breath, nodding to Jensen to pull them together. It gets pretty close, and Misha’s other hand works at the zipper. It gets a little bit up before snagging on his boxers.

Jensen carefully lets go of each side and the zipper pushes back down almost immediately. Misha readily goes about readjusting his boxers.

“Almost had it,” Misha says, forced optimism in his voice as his hands work inside his pants. “Let me just—”

Jensen’s hands gently pull at Misha’s wrists, and Misha looks up.

“Mish, the pants don’t fit.”

He blinks rapidly.

“They do though, we almost had it,” Misha insists.

“You shouldn’t need two people to get on a pair of pants,” Jensen reminds him, voice very soft.

His hands slip from Misha’s wrists to his hands, and their fingers intertwine. He steps closer and nuzzles into Misha’s temple.

“It’s fine,” Jensen mutters, pressing a kiss into Misha’s hair.

Misha’s hands grip Jensen’s tighter.

“This is so embarrassing,” Misha mutters, ducking his head into Jensen’s neck and burrowing there.

Jensen’s hands move to Misha’s back, running up and down soothingly.

“No it’s not,” Jensen says gently, “there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I outgrew a pair of pants in a few months,” Misha groans.

“So? We’ll get you a new pair.”

“I’ll just outgrow them,” Misha adds petulantly.

“Then we’ll get you more,” Jensen says, like that’s all there is to it.

Misha draws back and looks at Jensen’s calm face. Jensen looks unfazed and grins at him.

“It really wouldn’t bother you if you outgrew a pair of pants from last season?” Misha asks, eyes narrowed.

Jensen huffs a laugh.

“It’s happened almost every season,” Jensen confides, rolling his eyes. “Don’t even talk to me about what the transition from season 3 to season 4 was like. I outgrew a pair of pants mid-season.”

Misha’s eyes go impossibly wide, then he almost laughs.

“Really?”

Jensen nods, then his hand are back on Misha’s waist and he’s rubbing Misha’s stomach gently.

“No one will care,” Jensen says, pressing forward to capture Misha’s lips. Misha relaxes into the kiss and Jensen feels his stomach expand a little further.

When Jensen pulls back Misha is smiling contently.

“I might still go on an extra long run tomorrow morning,” Misha warns with a sigh.

Jensen shrugs, continuing to knead around his hips.

“I like your stomach enough for the both of us,” Jensen says.

Another couple minutes go by before Jensen pulls back.

“You should probably let them know they need to get you a new pair of pants,” Jensen advises.

Jensen turns to open the door before pausing and turning back. There’s a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

“They’ve already got their work cut out for them replacing half my wardrobe this season,” Jensen says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow my personal Cockles and Destiel tumblr [here](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com)


	8. Stretch Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’d like to inquire about this hipcam, Mish,” Jensen asked seriously.

Misha should’ve known better.

Jensen had been sitting on hold for 10 minutes without complaint even though lunch was being served at the catering tent on set. Jensen was chuckling happily as he clicked around his computer, occasionally pausing to dial an extension and make his way through an automated menu on the line.

Misha started pouting five minutes ago, shifting from side to side restlessly with hunger on the other end of the trailer. Fajitas were being served not 100 yards away, and if they didn’t get there soon the chicken was going to seep into the tortillas and make them all soggy and Misha would never forgive Jensen.

Then Jensen let out a barking laugh and threw his phone down triumphantly.

Misha’s frown deepened as Jensen turned his full attention to the screen, his face lit up like a Christmas tree as laughs continued to rack his frame.

“What are you doing?” Misha asked, not even caring how petulant he sounded.

Jensen grinned from over the top of the laptop, and turned the screen. A familiar black background with photoshopped pictures of Misha in various states of undress greeted him. It was the GISHWHES fake website, with MISHACOLLINSXXX plastered across the top.

Misha couldn’t help but grin back.

“You love it,” Misha sniffed proudly.

“I do,” Jensen said happily, turning it back around greedily. Misha wasn’t quite as annoyed with Jensen’s gleeful expression.

“How did you even find out about that?”

“People twittered about it — told me to dial your GISHWHES line and how to be directed to it,” Jensen answered distractedly, then he looked up and flashed a smile. “I got distracted with all the other menu options.”

“Remind me why we’re missing out on fajitas when you can see my ‘explicit adult material’ whenever you want?”

Jensen waggled his eyebrows at him for a moment, which Misha returned.

“I’d like to inquire about this hipcam, Mish,” Jensen asked seriously.

Misha snorted and moved to sit next to him. He took in the image of him from an old role, his hipbones pronounced as he slipped a shirt on.

“God, I was so hungry that day,” Misha sighed wistfully. “I looked good though.”

Jensen looked over at him sharply.

“You look good now.”

Misha just rolled his eyes, but Jensen closed his laptop and gently pushed him down on the couch, hovering over him. Misha looked surprised but was happy to go along, his hands slipping around Jensen’s waist. Jensen rested his forehead against Misha’s, their lips hovering centimeters apart, but Jensen didn’t close the space.

“I like your hips now,” Jensen repeated quietly.

Misha exhaled slowly to calm his racing heart.

“They’re less hips and more just the space on either side of my belly,” Misha muttered.

Jensen’s eyebrows drew together sharply. Then his lips were on Misha’s, hot and insistent and sweet, but too soon they were gone and Jensen was kissing across Misha’s jawline and down his ridiculous elegant neck. Jensen could spend an entire afternoon here, but he had other plans. He kept moving south, his hands pushing Misha’s shirt up so he could start kissing his torso, lavishing attention on every inch.

He took his time on Misha’s belly, taking care to press kisses into the lines that had formed where his stomach naturally rolls when he sits and where it juts out over his jeans. Jensen kissed both sides of the fleshy tummy, his thumbs rubbing smooth circles onto his hips.

When he got to his hips, Jensen ran his lips tenderly across the slightly raised stretch marks there, straight white streaks across smooth, tan skin. Jensen kissed up and down each one he found, his thumbs running along them worshipfully.

Misha was having trouble breathing, heart stuttering as he gazed down at Jensen with adoration. He reached down, not feeling self-conscious about the growing roll of flesh under his chin, and gently ran his fingers through the short hairs on Jensen’s neck. Jensen’s eyes flicked up.

“They started showing up after the kids,” Misha said softly. “I — I always loved food, but your priorities just shift at that point, I guess. I exercise, but I stopped caring about keeping a perfect body.”

Jensen sat up slightly and pulled his own shirt up. He looked down and ran his fingers along his own stomach, where creases lined his skin from where he’d lost muscle mass over the years. Misha ran a finger across them softly, his heart swelling with affection for these tiny features. Jensen reached down and touched Misha’s own stretch marks with a similar reverence.

“These are part of you,” Jensen said quietly, but fiercely. “And I love them.”

Misha understood exactly what Jensen meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [this](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com) tumblr.


	9. Pick-up Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the time – on set, at local bars, in line at the catering tent, in the grocery store when Jensen looks guilty over buying cookies – Misha just showers him in the sappiest compliments.

Misha has always been the steady one, the one who was able to reassure Jensen when he was in his ‘pudgy states.’

Sometimes Jensen would get a bit too enthusiastic over hiatus and come back with a noticeable gut and ever-so-slightly less noticeable jawline. But that’s when Misha would quietly comfort Jensen, telling him how it’s fine, he looked great, and if they were alone, show him how much he liked nibbling along that soft jawline…

Those were during the private moments though. Most of the time – on set, at local bars, in line at the catering tent, in the grocery store when Jensen looks guilty over buying cookies – Misha just showers him in the sappiest compliments.

“You’re as beautiful as the sun,” Misha deadpans to Jensen one day as Jensen, practically radiating distress, stares between an apple and fresh baked muffins at a local café.

Jensen blushes crimson.

“The sun’s…not beautiful. You can’t even look at it.”

“You’re as luminous as the sun,” Misha replies steadily, with just the barest tilt to his lips betraying how outrageous he sounds.

“That’s — that’s just ridiculous,” Jensen frowns.

Jensen buys the muffin.

 

Three days later Jensen wakes up in a terrible mood because he has to go to a wardrobe fitting and he hates how everyone pokes at him and talks about how they can’t use the dress pants from last season, Barbara, because they don’t fit anymore.

“You’re as sweet as apple pie,” Misha tells Jensen as he brushes his teeth, pressing a quick kiss on his forehead.

Jensen blushes and looks away, muttering, “that’s not even possible.”

But Misha can see the small smile that stays on his face as he stares down at the sink.

 

After a long night of shooting, Jensen is fighting the urge to get irritable because he’s so damn hungry.

“Did you sit in a pile of sugar?” Misha whispers to him between takes.

Jensen is momentarily frozen by horror, his body twitching to turn around and check.

“N-no?”

“Cause you have a pretty sweet ass,” Misha says with a wink.

Jensen buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he grumbles, “oh my god.”

 

Then Jensen mutters to Misha not to order bread for the table as they’re led to their seats at an Italian restaurant —

“Jensen, is your dad a baker?” Misha asks loudly.

Jensen gives him an incredulous look.

“Because you have some sweet buns.”

Jensen laughed so hard he insisted it counted as an abdominal work out and they enjoyed three servings of bread before their pasta.

 

Jensen had become accustomed to the support and over time, caring less about the scale and more about the constant encouragement from Misha.

But, frankly, both of their weights were prone to fluctuations. And Misha began to feel a bit unsure about his own body, which was softening steadily.

Jensen knew something was up when Misha bought new clothes. He’d been wearing the same ratty, torn, stained, weird t-shirts and jeans since probably the turn of the millennium. But he had to go buy some new button-ups and some looser jeans and he stopped wearing his favorite belt buckles because his jeans were more than secure around his hips.

So Jensen’s prepared when he finds Misha in his boxer briefs one morning, frowning at some ‘Go Lean’ cereal with a hand unconsciously resting on his stomach where a small roll of pudge spills over his waistband.

So Jensen takes a deep breath.

“You should have Lucky Charms,” Jensen announces.

Misha looks up, his head tilted in confusion.

“Because you look magically delicious.”

A smile practically melts onto Misha’s face.

“I hate you,” Misha mutters into Jensen’s neck when Jensen’s arms come around him, gently kneading his lower back.

“Right back at you,” Jensen sighs, kissing his soft jawline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [this](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com) tumblr.


	10. Muffin Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s just—“ Misha pauses in frustration “—what does it mean to have a muffin top?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [chubcockles](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com) tumblr!

Misha furrows his brow and stares down at his phone with a frown.

“Everything alright?” Jensen asks from across the table.

When Misha doesn’t immediately respond Jensen stretches a leg out between Misha’s knees and knocks at him gently under the table.

Misha flicks up his eyes and gives him a private smile. They’re sitting in one of their favorite cafes, a local place right across from Jensen’s apartment. Jensen absolutely insists he choose the place because of the hard wood floors and built-in bookshelves but Misha knows for a fact Jensen could’ve found that anywhere. What he couldn’t find was the croissant brioche and chorizo torta that the professional bakers make hourly.

“Just some Twitter stuff,” Misha mumbles, finger slowly dragging across the screen as he scrolls.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to read the at-replies,” Jensen sighs.

“It’s just—“ Misha pauses in frustration “—what does it mean to have a muffin top?”

Jensen tries not to react.

“A muffin top?”

Misha shoves his phone at Jensen’s face. A couple replies to Misha’s latest selfie are — adoringly, thank god — calling attention to outline of pudge that’s just visible beneath his shirt.

Jensen gestures at the blueberry muffin in front of Misha.

“It’s, you know, the part of the muffin that kinda puffs up over the top of the paper lining,” Jensen says.

Misha looks perplexed.

“It’s — it’s just the little bit that spills over on top of your pants,” Jensen shrugs.

Misha’s expression clears, turning thoughtful as he traces the parchment paper on his muffin with a finger. He gets to the part where he’s taken a huge bite of the fluffy pastry.

“So the muffin top is the best part?” Misha finally asks.

Jensen smiles.

“It’s the best part.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com) is my personal tumblr.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties and pretended Houscon happened the week after it did. This is 2.4k words of Misha and Jensen talking weight before the bridal op.

**Thursday** :

“Honestly, what the fuck,” Misha mumbles to himself as he stands in the mirror of his trailer, staring at his reflection.

There’s a sharp knock on his door and Jensen’s voice calls out, “Mish!”

“Coming, coming,” Misha calls back, grabbing his suit jacket, slinging his Cas trench coat over his shoulders and calling it quits.

He bolts out of his trailer and finds Jensen peering down at his phone.

“You’re gonna have to show me how to get this thing into selfie mode,” Jensen warns as he and Misha’s steps fall into sync.

“It’s exactly like what you do when you call Danneel and JJ,” Misha says, rolling his eyes.

“That’s different, Skype and Facetime do the selfie thing automatically,” Jensen says as he frowns deeply at his phone.

Misha keeps tugging at his shirt across his shoulders distractedly.

“You ok?” Jensen asks, glancing at him.

“Maybe we should switch,” Misha suggests.

Jensen scowls. “That wouldn’t make sense. You’re the one who’s supposed to be the one stalking me.”

“It could be a fun role reversal,” Misha suggests, nudging his side.

Jensen grins.

“You want to talk about role playing?” Jensen wiggles his eyebrows and Misha snorts as they enter the production studios.

They find an empty meeting room and Jensen silently hands over the phone for Misha to set up a video in selfie mode on Facebook. As Misha works, Jensen folds his hands on Misha’s shoulder and rests his head on top of them, watching.

“Why do you want to switch?” Jensen asks.

When Misha doesn’t respond Jensen knocks his head against Misha’s gently. Misha glances over to find Jensen’s bright green eyes are on him.

“Honestly?” Misha asks.

Jensen just keeps looking at him openly, so Misha says, “Feeling a bit… crowded under all these layers.”

He flaps out his elbows and glances down at all his layers: the trench coat, the You Are Not Alone t-shirt, Cas’ white button-up, and an undershirt. His suit jacket is slung over one of his arms.

Jensen frowns down at Misha’s attire.

“Crowded how?”

“You know how. I just need to go on an extra-long run and I’ll feel better,” Misha says.

“You’ve already been running a lot lately,” Jensen points out, accepting the phone when Misha offers it back to him. “And you started lifting weights.”

“So?”

“So you’re building muscle mass, that’s why you’re bigger,” Jensen shrugs. “You looked broad as fuck in the PCA video.”

Misha rolls his eyes but Jensen can see the slight blush on his cheeks so he presses on.

“You’re up, what? Ten pounds from usual?” Jensen asks.

Misha’s eyes go wide.

“You can tell?”

Jensen isn’t sure Misha looks entirely pleased about Jensen noticing.

“Yeah buddy, you look good,” Jensen assures him.

Misha gives another tug at the t-shirt, which was sitting awkwardly over the button-up.

“It’s weird, I don’t usually gain this much weight during the season. I try to wait until hiatus, then all bets are off.”

“I know what you mean,” Jensen mumbles, “thank God I’m done with my juice cleanse.”

Misha grins. “I’m glad you’re off your juice cleanse too.”

“Why?” Jensen immediately demands. “I look good!”

Misha rolls his eyes. “You were irritable as fuck.”

“Because I was  _on a juice cleanse!”_

“And, for the record, you look good with some meat on your bones,” Misha teased.

Jensen’s face falls into the grumpy expression he makes when he’s trying not to be affectionate. It’s one of Misha’s favorites.

“Something’s gotta give. I ain’t doing crunches, so I have to watch what I eat.”

“My offer stands for you to come running with me.”

“God did not intend for man to run more than one mile at a time,” Jensen admonishes.

“I love it when you get all biblical,” Misha grins.

“I’m spittin’ truth,” Jensen says.

“So are you still trying yoga?”

“God also did not intend for me to put my legs behind my head. That’s your territory, buddy.”

Misha snorts, gazing at Jensen’s face for a moment. Then his eyebrows contract suddenly.

“Wait. One mile, Jackles? Really?” 

“Get outside and pretend to stalk me,” Jensen grumbles.

“ _One_?!”

“Before you bust out of your wardrobe,” he waves Misha off.

 

They film until nearly 2 a.m., and Misha and Jensen are bone tired by the time they wrap. But all it takes is Misha peering over at Jensen questioningly as they walk to their trailers for them to end up driving to the 24-hour diner a few blocks from their apartments.

“We’re not gonna be able to sleep unless we get some food in us,” Misha defends passionately as he pulls open the door.

“Preaching to the choir,” Jensen grumbles.

“You’re grumpy when you’re hungry,” Misha comments, quirking a smile.

“Everyone’s grumpy when they’re hungry. Not being grumpy is unnatural,” Jensen frowns.

Jensen orders fish tacos and Misha orders a bacon burger.

“We burned more than enough calories doing that fight scene to justify this,” Misha says, but he’s back to tugging at his Henley.

Jensen’s heart melts a bit as he recognizes the tick.

“We totally burned enough calories for it,” Jensen assures gently.

Misha relaxes.

Some time later, after Jensen starts picking at Misha’s fries, Misha brings up exercise again.

“So what are you doing now that you’re not doing yoga?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what do you do to exercise? I never see you at the gym.”

Jensen scowls at Misha.

“Why would I go to the gym?”

“I go to lift weights, remember?”

Jensen makes a disguised face and tosses another fry in his mouth. Misha grins at him.

“We can’t all just… I don’t know, absorb the power of the universe and rejuvenate from the stars,” Misha gestures at Jensen. “Some of us mere mortals have to deal with maintaining our bodies.”

Jensen scoffs. “Do you remember me in season 4? I hit 30 and my metabolism just threw in the towel. I will never forgive Jared for how much food he can eat and not gain weight.”

“Jared works out quite a bit,” Misha points out.

Jensen looks skyward. “I know it keeps you healthy, but God, at what cost?”

“The cost of food,” Misha replies wisely, pointing at Jensen with a fry. “So you’re really just eating less?”

“Basically,” Jensen shrugs, looking down at himself. “Is it working?”

Misha nods. “You’re pretty svelte right now. I actually looked way bigger than you in that PCA video.”

“Is that why you said you like me with more meat on my bones?” Jensen asks, an eyebrow cocked.

“No,” Misha replies simply, but Jensen knows that smile. He calls for the check immediately.

**Friday:**

“Do we want to make another video today?” Misha mutters, almost asleep where he’s half sprawled under Jensen and across Jensen’s couch.

“No,” Jensen says immediately, his arm tightening around Misha. “We’ll give them a break today.”

They’re off to a late start because they know they’ll be filming until at least 4 in the morning. They still showed up on set around 1 p.m. and enjoyed the catered lunch.

“We should do something,” Misha grumbles, shifting uncomfortably.

“Stop squirming,” Jensen says into the crook of Misha’s neck.

“Your elbow’s right in my side,” Misha groans.

“Not my fault you went back for seconds of mac n’ cheese,” Jensen teases.

“I ran like seven miles this morning, leave me alone.”

Jensen lets out a pornographic groan.

“Seven  _miles?_ ”

“Had to make up for that burger last night,” Misha shrugs, accidentally dislodging Jensen from his comfortable resting spot in his neck.

“So were you making up for the burger or making room for the mac n’ cheese?”

Misha pauses. “I hate you.”

Jensen grins and cuddles a little closer.

“Broad as fuck, remember.”

“I’m ballooning,” Misha pouts.

“Balloons of brick houses.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“I’m not the one who got excited about the sulfur fountains out there.”

Misha starts. “Jensen, they  _are so cool._ It’s sulfur!”

“I’ve had enough sulfur to last a lifetime, thanks.”

“I think I’m gonna make a video about it.”

“Make it in your own trailer, then,” Jensen says unhappily.

Misha plants an obnoxious kiss on his temple and begins to wiggle out from under him. When Misha gets his feet under him he crouches down to where Jensen is glaring with the one eye that’s not smooshed into the couch cushion.

“I know your secret, you know,” Misha whispers.

Jensen glares harder. “What’s that?”

“You’re  _hungry._  That’s why you’re grumpy.”

“Maybe,” Jensen says petulantly.

Misha kisses him again and makes his way to his trailer.

**HoustonCon:**

Misha can’t believe 5 a.m. departures even exist. He, Jensen and Jared are all piled into an airline that’s barely half full, probably barely meeting the minimum passenger requirement for the flight not to be cancelled, and on their way from Canada to Texas.

Despite the early hour, the flight attendant is making her way down the aisle in first class offering complimentary wafer cookies. Jared is passed out against the window, but Jensen politely waves her off. Misha frowns. He wants a cookie, but Jensen is probably right.

Misha glances over at Jensen, who is nestled into his seat with his big stupid scarf wrapped around him. He looks so Zen, even in the face of cookies. Maybe he got more out of his attempt to do yoga than Misha gives him credit for.

“No, thank you,” Misha says when the flight attendant holds out a cookie for him, but he glances down and sees it’s got a caramel middle. Fuck.

Soon after Misha gets up to go to the bathroom. The food cart has made its way down the plane and is sitting lodged in the back. Not that Misha is searching them out, but he sees a basket sitting on top of the cart with about five packages of wafers left.

_Zen,_  he tells himself, pulling open the bathroom door.

_Zen,_ he repeats to himself as his thoughts are entirely consumed with what a caramel-filled wafer cookie would taste like. Suddenly it seems like the most delicious food in the world.

_Zen,_ he says as he opens the door. He finds a flight attendant holding the basket of cookies as she opens up a drawer to tuck them away. She spots Misha coming out and straightens.

“Want a cookie before I put them away for the rest of the flight?”

Fuck Zen.

Misha has the decency to make it to this seat before tearing open the packaging and starting to nibble at the cookie.

“Is it good?” a voice startles Misha. He looks over to find Jensen peeking at him.

“Did I wake you up?” Misha asks guiltily, suddenly aware of the crinkly packaging. Jensen shakes his head, but Misha offers the other half of his wafer up. “Want some?”

He’d give it to Jensen if he said yes, but he’s hoping that Jensen says no.

And Jensen, perfect Jensen who eats healthy but doesn’t exercise, just shakes his head and says, “it’s all yours.”

Misha finishes the rest of the cookie as quietly as possible, but when he looks over Jensen is still awake and watching him.

“Are you living vicariously through me?” Misha whispers with a smile.

“I  _was_  thinking that I wish you could stay in Austin with me and Danneel, but seeing the way you were looking at that cookie, I think you have all the company you need.”

Misha rolls his eyes and Jensen winks at him.  _God_ , Misha thinks, Jensen is so bad at winking but he’s so cute.

A few minutes later, Misha decides to ask now before Jensen falls asleep: “Hey, I need to ask you something.”

Jensen just gazes back at him.

“Am I putting on too much weight? Or is it too noticeable?” He looks down. “I asked Vicki but she’s too nice. And you know how this works on camera. Plus you’re an asshole so I know you’ll tell me.”

It’s a bad attempt at levity but Jensen catches his drift.

“Mish, you look perfect,” he responds without hesitation. 

**Saturday:**

Most of the day is spent in a blur at the convention, but everything starts to slow down as soon as Misha gets back to his room that evening to find Jensen sprawled across the bed flipping through channels.

“How was Austin?” Misha asks, slipping out of his shoes.

“Really, really good. Danneel was sorry you couldn’t come.”

“I’m sorry too,” Misha calls through his t-shirt. “How’s JJ?”

“Misses Maison.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Three,” Jensen adds as Misha crawls into bed. Misha smiles at him and flops over to be closer.

“What are we watching?”

“I don’t know. Nothing?” Jensen offers. When Misha smirks up at him Jensen starts to lean down and over Misha, tossing the remote aside. Then Misha makes a small noise and Jensen pulls back.

“I’m hungry,” Misha apologizes.

“Okay, room service – before or after?” he asks, nosing along Misha’s jawline. Misha makes an entirely different small noise.

“Honestly, can we have both?”

Jensen barks out a laugh and pulls back. “Seriously?”

“What?” Misha asks innocently. “Afraid you can’t handle me? The gym starting to sound like a good idea now?”

“Mish, you’ve put on some weight, but I still got you.”

Then Jensen gives him another horrible wink. Misha surges up to press his lips firmly to Jensen’s for a long moment, then pulls back.

“Both it is, then.”

**Sunday:**

Fan photo ops are going as usual – Jensen’s being a little bit handsy, but Misha has taken the opportunity to lay his head on Jensen’s shoulder more than once, so he’s calling it square – when someone walks up with an unusual request.

“Could you pick him up?” the fan asks Jensen.

“Well actually he’s not strong enough,” Misha responds immediately.

If memory of last night serves, Jensen is definitely strong enough.

Jensen throws him a look. “Well actually he’s a bit heavy right now,” Jensen shoots back.

The fan looks down in disappointment but Misha’s head swivels over to glare to Jensen. Jensen winks.

“No no no no no no no!” one of the handlers says as Jensen sweeps Misha up in his arms. Misha’s arms automatically go around Jensen’s neck and Chris snaps the photo.

Jensen carefully deposits Misha back to the ground and they each hug the fan.

Misha grins up at Jensen quickly before the next fan steps in.

“I got you,” Jensen says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://demonwolfgurl.tumblr.com/post/139746376958/okay-everyone-here-it-is-the-cockles-bridal-op) is the bridal op referred to in the fic. The videos are all also real, in case you didn't know. If you didn't, check out Misha and Jensen's social media.
> 
> I'm [casthegrumpy](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com) on tumblr and this fic was posted to the [chubcockles](http://chubcockles.tumblr.com) tumblr.


End file.
